Wings of Innocence
by BumblingLobster
Summary: Silas has been sent to Hell, but he still prays to be forgiven. In heaven, God takes notice and decides to give Silas a second chance by making him a guardian angel. Can Silas change? *being edited- version 2 soon!
1. Chapter 1

hey! this is rated M because it's a bit of a spin on religion, and i know religion can be a bit of a touchy subject, and i just don't want to totally offend anyone. so i'm saying right now, **if you get offended by religion or beliefs that aren't your own, please don't read. **it's rated for language, and gross-ness (in this chapter only). This story is also rated M because i'm not really sure how violent later chapters will be. the second chapter should be up fairly soon, but i'll be waiting for five reviews. they don't have to be positive, but they can't be flames. so FLAMERS BEWARE!

disclaimer: I don't own the DaVinci Code, or any of it's characters. if you aren't sure if i own something in this story, email me. i will take pity on you and give you an answer, along with advice on where to get a brain.

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Silas stared at the sea of decay, the stench bombarding his senses. It had seemed like years since he had first arrived here, but the smell never went away, and he never got used to it. Sometimes it wasn't as strong. When he first woke up, starving, parched, and confused, the smell had made him gag. The smell came in waves, and at the highest points, it would actually cause Silas to collapse to his knees, often feeling the need to barf. But that's something you can't do when there's nothing in your stomach. Nothing. No food, no water, not even goddamn stomach acids. How is that possible? 

Anything is possible, when you're dead.

And when you're in Hell.

In Hell, the demons' screams keep you awake at all times, no matter how tired you are, and everything is hard and dry and dark.

And cold.

Oh, you thought Hell was all fire and brimstone? Well you'd be right- sort of. It's hot at first. When you die you get this feeling as if you were falling and it's hot and you feel on fire but you can't put it out, because you can't move, and the air is too hot to comfort you and you just keep falling until **boom**! It goes cold. And you wake up someplace new, different than anything you've ever seen. You don't know what time day, month or year it is, and you can only remember enough of your life to make you miss it.

And you're alone. No one comes and tells you you're in hell. You probably will never see anyone else; not another dead person, definately not Satan, not even one lousy demon. You can hear them, sure, but you will never have to see one. It makes them all the more horrible.

It was no different for Silas.

He woke up confused, knowing that this wasn't heaven. Knowing that when he died that's where he would be, and so he must not be dead.

He was wrong.

He'd changed his mind since then.

He'd changed his mind on a lot of things. The price of killing, of truth and lies, and forgiveness. He had asked the Lord for forgiveness, but he was sent to Hell anyway.

He still prayed. He prayed to God, the Lord, the Almighty, for redemption. He prayed for forgiveness, for a second chance. He prayed, but his hope was gone. No more hope for Silas, the monk stuck in hell. His suffering did nothing to bring him closer to forgiveness. Of course, Hell wasn't used to people praying there, and They didn't like it, not one bit. So every prayer, and word muttered under Silas's breath became a struggle.

Eventually, Hell assured Themselves, eventually he would break and the prayers would stop, and all would be as they should.

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Thank you for reading! I'm working on the second chapter even as we speak, so to speak. Haha, anyway, I know this was short, but there's not really anything else that could happen in this one. I can't promise that the next one will be longer, because I'm not sure it will be. I'll just have to see. This chappie was more introductory anyway, so in the next one, the plot will start…plotting…. heh heh. Please review. There may not be much to review on, but I like to know that I'm having –some- effect on my readers (if I have any!) 

if someone would like to be my BETA for this fic, I would be happy to accept help.

I wont post my next chapter until after I get five reviews. And the next chapter is when it starts getting good.


	2. Chapter 2

finally, the next chapter posted. it might be a bit confusing, so if you have qyestions, put them in a review or pm me.

Disclaimer: the same

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Silas stumbled on a rock hidden in the deeper shadows, but kept walking. His feet and legs hurt, but he knew that if he stopped, something would happen. Something bad. Nothing extremely bad had ever happened to Silas in Hell before- at least anything out of the norm- but the feeling that something was going to happen was always there and always kept him on his toes- literally. He glanced back wildly into the dark behind him, but there was nothing there. At least, nothing he could see. He turned back, hugging his arms around his naked body, rubbing his fingers against his scared and broken flesh. He clamped his eyes shut and began the Lord's Prayer.

"Our Father, who art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name."

Suddenly it became very hard for Silas to breath, as if he couldn't get enough oxygen in his lungs. But he continued, knowing that he couldn't die again, and that by suffering, he was rightfully being punished for his sins.

"Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done. On earth as it is in heaven."

Rocks that hadn't been there minutes before desperately tried to bring Silas to the ground and end his prayer. But while he stumbled, he managed to keep upright.

"Give us this day our daily bread."

Silas's eyes began to sting as if irritated from the smoke in the air that wasn't really there.

"And forgive us our trespasses,"

Hell was doing all They could within the boundaries of the Law to stop Silas from praying. The Law forbade Hell from entering the minds of Their captured souls and forcing them to their will, and it forbade Heaven from destroying all sin and evil. Having never had a creator, it was often open to interpretation, but unfortunately for Hell, parts of it were very clear.

"As we forgive those who trespass against us."

Silas rubbed at his eyes, then stopped when the stinging intensified. He was tired, and his whole body dragged, but still he was unable to stop. He was sure he had passed this place before, but it was hard to tell, since all of Hell looked the same- all rocks and dirt and thorns and decaying flesh.

"And lead us not into temptation,"

Suddenly it felt as if a million beetles were crawling upon Silas's bare flesh. He began scratching at it, peeling back skin with his sharp and broken nails, scraping against bone, but still he didn't stop his prayer.

"But deliver us from evil."

A searing pain shot through Silas's body. Hell had lost patience with Silas, and wanted him to shut up and stay that way. Hell usually preferred the long constant suffering, but Silas was not usual. It was time to make contact with Silas. But just as a soul close to Heaven will feel clam and happy, a soul close to Hell will feel immense pain. The pain caused Silas to stop in his tracks and fall to the ground curling up in a tight ball. His voice became strained and raspy, the sound clawing at his throat.

"Amen."

"**Amen."**

Silas barely registered the voice coming from the shadows. Actually, it sounded like many voices all at once, the voice of a child, of a woman, a man, a beast, and an ancient voice of immortality.

"Wh-who…are…"

"**Who am I?"** the voices asked. **"Who are we? We are Hell; we are the devil, pure sin, Satan, what ever else you may want to call us. We've come to make a proposition."**

"I don't make… deals with the devil" Silas said, searching for strength through the pain.

The voices barked in laughter. It sounded so human, so horrible and mocking. **"Where do you think you are Ghost?"** They asked, causing Silas to flinch slightly**. "It seems Heaven has taken a notice of you and have agreed to take you off our hands, but only if you accept to a few terms."**

Silas didn't answer, just lay there panting on the ground, his white hair and skin almost glowing in the dark. He could feel the voices getting more and more impatient, but the pain didn't allow him to speak.

"_Step away. Allow him peace."_ A soft voice was heard, and suddenly Silas was surrounded in an empty darkness, pierced by billions upon millions of lights.

"The sky…" he muttered, staring at the stars that surrounded him.

"_Neutral ground, where Heaven and Hell may meet and discuss Matters of Importance." _ Silas looked around for the source of the soothing voice, but found none.

"Are you Heaven?" Silas asked, finding himself able to speak again. Both blinding pain and soft clam filled his body, creating a sort of mixed unease. The soft voice chuckled softly, a caring, joyful laugh that sounded like the purest crispest bells that ever reached man's ears.

"_Yes, I am heaven." _The voice also had the old knowing sound of immortality, but was neither male nor female nor human - the complete opposite of the voices of Hell.

"_We have gathered here to decide your future. Silas," _the voice said, using the name Silas recognized, _"You have taken lives of my men, something which I should not forgive. However you have remained in faith even in the pits of Hell." _From behind Silas, the voices of Hell grunted, sounding Their displeasure.

"_Silas, we have a proposition to make. If you choose to accept, you will be given a second chance at redemption. However, if you choose to deny, you will be sent back into Hell, unable to pray or hold faith any longer. Do you understand?" _Silas nodded, waiting for the only chance for a forgiveness he would have.

"_Should you accept, you will become a…guardian Angel, if you will. You will be bonded to one human and it will be your job to ensure her safety."_

"Her?" Silas rasped out.

"**Yes. A woman. You think you can do that? Do you think you can protect that which you previously despised so? Your hate will drag you under. You will fail."**

"_Silence." _Heaven ordered. _" It is not your decision. Silas, do you accept this challenge?"_

If this was his chance at redemption, yes. If this was a second chance, yes. Silas nodded, his smile becoming wider with each shake of his head. He could feel his exhaustion, but the pain began to subside. He had another chance to be forgiven, a new beginning. He wasn't going to waste it. No, he would prove himself worthy of Heaven.

"_Come, Silas. In two weeks your challenge will begin. One week of rest, and one week of learning." _And as Silas looked up, he was surrounded by a soft, warm light. _"Welcome to heaven."_

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again, any questions/comments, put them in a review! or just pm me. and no flames (not that i've gotten any...yet...)

also, honorable mention to FuchiaII who is my beta. we've been having trouble figuring out some technical stuff, but Fuschia's been very pacient and i'm very thankful.


	3. Chapter 3

One week of work, one week of rest. Silas was in a library with shelves of books and scrolls that rose hundreds of feet to the ceiling. Angels, all clad in white, hovered between the stacks, their strong wings beating at the air to keep them midair. Silas was sitting in a big squishy chair with a high back and big armrests. On his lap were three books.

"Read these," said the angel standing next to him. "Today you will learn of all that has happened and all that will happen between the time of your death and the time of your return to earth."

Silas looked at the books. They were all rather thick and heavy, each with a soft leather cover and each without a title. He slowly picked one up and opened it. It was blank. Silas frowned, flipping through the pages, but there was nothing. Nor was there any writing in the other two books. He looked around, searching for the angel who had given him the books, feeling as though he was at the blunt end of a joke, but the angel was nowhere in sight. Silas watched the other angels take books of the shelves and open them to peer at the words. When one landed close to the chair in which Silas was currently sitting, Silas reached out to get the angel's attention.

"Forgive me," he started, taking note of the irritated glare the angel was giving him "but these books, they hold no writing."

"Well of course they don't," the angel snapped back." You're not supposed to literally _read_ them." At Silas's blank stare the angel sighed and rolled its eyes. "I can't believe I have to explain this – look, just put your hands on the pages." The angel then beat its wings rapidly and flew away before Silas could respond.

Slightly confused by the angel's tone (were angels not at peace in heaven?) Silas opened one of the large books on his lap to the first page and hesitantly placed his hands on top. He gasped as they started to sink into the paper, the feeling of solid paper bending as though a liquid gel sending startled him. Very quickly, images began to flash in front of his eyes and knowledge of events he'd never heard of flooded his mind.

Eleven years of life, wars, music, people, countries, all placed in three books, and all lived through in one day. The images of events whirred by. It was like living through every single day of each year, sped up so fast that he could not see a thing; and yet at the end of a year, he remembered everything that had entered his mind. When the blurring stopped, he would blink his eyes for a few seconds, trying to get them used to working as they should again before pulling the next book on top and opening it. Eleven full years of everything fitted into three books. By the time Silas was done with all three books, the library was completely empty.

It had gotten dark while he had been "reading", and most of the room was covered in shadow. The center, where Silas was sitting with his three books, was alight with a bright white glow that had no source that only illuminated Silas's chair and three others before fading into the shadows. Silas placed the three large books on the floor, while looking around for someone to help him put them back. There was no one there, or if there was they didn't show themselves, so Silas just left them where they were and walked over to where he hoped the exit was.

Silas stopped, looking around. He was now well within where the shadows were, and yet he had not stepped out of the ring of light. He looked back towards the chair, finding it completely shrouded in darkness. He looked forward again, noting a blue book sticking a bit off the shelf and kept his eyes trained on it as he walked forward. The light moved with him, and as he neared the book, it became more and more illuminated. How strange, first books you couldn't read, then lights that follow you. Was it that Silas himself was glowing? He held up a hand and silently studied it. No, his hand was not glowing, nor was any other part of him. This must be a miracle of God, of Heaven. Because after all, that's where he was, and it should only be expected that God would not save miracles solely for the tangible world, but His own world as well.

It took a few minutes of wandering between dusty stalks and down stairs for Silas to find an archway which lead out onto an open veranda. Outside the air was cool and crisp, but also fresh and clean. A soft breeze flowed through the city made entirely of white stone. On top of flat roofs and plateaus dark patches of grass and gardens blended into the night's shadows. There was no moon out tonight, but the stars, more clear than Silas had ever seen- more so even in the Spanish country- sparkled like the eyes of joyous children. Thick clouds encircled the city at it boarders, slowly rotation in a lazy circle, both protecting heaven and capturing its occupants. No window in the city was lit, leaving Silas at peace bathed only in the light of the stars.

"Have you finished?" Silas turned at the sound of the voice. It was another angel, its magnificent wings tucked at his back, his hands clasped in front of him. Silas nodded, staring at the angel. The angel seemed blurred, while Silas could see its surrounding with crystal sharpness. The harder he looked, Silas realized, the less detail of the angel's face he could see.

"Then please follow me. I'll show you to your room." The angel glided past Silas, striding down the long veranda to the adjacent building, Silas in toe. The angel led Silas through alleys, down stairs and streets, under bridges, from building to building through the maze of houses, everything dark and silent and empty. It was dark, but light enough to see well enough. Everyone and a wile they would pass a lawn or garden, squeezed into some flat place or another. Crickets chirped in the dark grass, and little glowing bugs hovered around bushes and trees. Sliders with glass legs scampered up walls, making _cliketty click click_ noises as they avoided the two beings. Leaves hushed in the breeze, twisting and curling as the air pushed past.

Presently the angel stopped, opening a door and stepping aside to let Silas enter. But Silas hesitated, hovering in the doorway before stepping inside.

It was a small room, only a bed and a side table present. The side table had two drawers, and the only light was the unlit candle in the window. Modest, plain, holy. Silas was relived, in a way.

"Sleep well," the angel said, pulling closed the door. "You have much work tomorrow."

Silas shuffled over to the bed, staring at the plain white sheets and coarse pillow. He could not imagine what tomorrow would bring. What must one learn to become a guardian angel?

The bed bounced as Silas sat on it, the springs squeaking under the weight. Silas relaxed at the familiar sound and lay down, leaving the sheets underneath him. He was used to being kept up by uncomfortable beds, endured the pain of insomnia many times, but the moment his head relaxed on the pillow Silas could feel his eyes droop, and when he thought 'this bed is too comfortable' they closed completely and he fell fast asleep.

OoOOOOoOoOOoOoOOOoOOOOooooOoOooooOOOoOOoOoooOoOoooO

Silas stared at the angel in front of him. He stared at the trees and the grass and the tips at the snow feathered wings that had sprouted from his shoulder blades overnight.

"I'm going to teach you how to fly." The angel said in a quiet voice. "You won't really need it, but I have to teach you anyway."

Silas nodded, shifting his weight to the other foot.

"You'll have trouble," the angel continued. "It will take a few days,"

Silas nodded, his wings twitching slightly.

"Humans are not supposed to fly," the angel rambled. "It comes naturally to us."

Silas nodded, playing with the feathers that brushed against his palm.

"I've been assigned to teach you," the angel muttered. "But I really don't want to."

Silas stared at the angel, blinking slowly.

"So I'm going to learn to fly," he clarified.

"Yes," said the angel.

The angel opened its wings, stretching them out to their full length- an impressive thirty feet.

"I'm not going to enjoy this," it said, beating the air with its wings. Wind swept across the meadow, flattening the grass and tugging at Silas's cloths. Silas watched as the angel hovered above the ground.

"You'll have to compensate for your weight. That means working harder. That means having stronger wings. That means more pain in training. That means…" the angel landed as it trailed off, staring back at Silas in silence.

"Try to beat your wings."

Silas tried, concentrating on the new appendages protruding from his back. But the felling was awkward, and he had trouble controlling them. His 'beat' turned out to be more of a 'shrug'.

"That was horrible." The angel commented, still in a bored monotone. "Do better next time."

Silas tried again, and admittedly he did do better…just not much.

"Do better next time," the angel sighed, scratching his nose (which Silas thought was strange, because he didn't think an angel would need to scratch their nose).

It took exactly eight times to finally make a presentable 'beat'. He looked up as his wings sent the air around him rushing.

"Weak," the angel said, who by now was lounging on the grass.

"Do better next time."

Silas nodded, feeling as if the weight of his own wings would make him topple backwards at any given moment. They were weak and clumsy, like a newborn baby's fingers, and Silas was -not- liking them. He squinted, focusing on the feathery masses behind him and remembering how it felt to beat them semi-properly. He gathered his energy and drew his wings to his back, lifting the feathered tips to the sky. With one swift motion he brought them down, pulling against the heavy air. Wind rushed from him in all directions, pushing up his baggy shirt and whipping his pants around his legs. When it stopped, the angel propped himself up on one elbow and stared lazily at Silas.

"Weak," it said. "Do better this time."

The next time was a little bit stronger, and the next a bit stronger, and the next even stronger. Each time Silas remained firmly on the ground, and each try was acknowledged with a "weak. Do better this time." The suns reached their peak and set and still Silas continued.

Finally when all the light had faded from the sky, replaced by the stars and the rising moon, the angel stood up.

"We will continue tomorrow," it said and promptly spread its powerful wings and flew off.

Silas stayed where he was kneeling, having lost the energy to stand.


End file.
